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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138938">An Exploration of Human Customs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Databuffer/pseuds/Databuffer'>Databuffer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lost in Space (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Culture, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season 2 spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:54:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Databuffer/pseuds/Databuffer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being accepted among humans has led the Robot to learn quite a few of their customs. Ones that cross a cultural barrier quite well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robot/Scarecrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Exploration of Human Customs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Robot was alone when Scarecrow finally emerged from the storage cabinet. This was the routine. There was a schedule to when he emerged, to the point of clockwork. Had anyone else wanted to see him, they’d only have to stay awake one hour beyond the ship’s curfew, and lurk in the main hall until inevitably, that many armed form would open a ceiling hatch, and crawl on down. But lucky for him, the children onboard rather regarded him as a boogeyman. The reason for the curfew, rather than just another who heeded it.</p><p>Scarecrow had been with them for a week now. His reclusiveness was not spawned from a desire to remain utterly hidden, a stowaway, rather, a desire for solitude. The 97 organic occupants were a daunting population for such a small ship, even for the Robot. That wasn’t even to mention Scarecrow’s warranted aversion to the species, paired with the fact he was still nursing wounds from his battle. Nothing that wouldn’t regenerate in time, but enough to make the already flighty unit even more so.</p><p>So the Robot was hardly surprised, or startled when the ceiling hatched opened with a pop, to reveal bright red, swirling light staring down at him. Instead, he was surprised when he noted an odd twitching in one of his secondary arms. It hung low, draped over his shoulder, limply, as if utterly nonfunctional.</p><p>Despite the injury, Scarecrow made it to the ground unaided. Three arms, and a multitude of legs making it easy to crawl down the wall with scarcely a sound. The second Scarecrow’s lights met his, he spoke. </p><p>“Help?” The Robot pulsed an arrangement of light up to him. Their own language. A silent one, whose words were an array of patterns and colors on their ever shifting faceplates.</p><p>“Affirmative.” Scarecrow answered with a pulse in turn. He held out the forearm with great difficulty. Even without seeing the root of the problem, he could identify it as quite bad. His primary arm was required to guide it down. Aside from the twitching, it seems incapable of moving. Whatever mechanism was damaged, was without a doubt, a crucial one. </p><p>Robot was quick to take the limb within his own hands. Scanning down the length of it. Circling around the compliant, patient unit, until he finally found the source: A piece of shrapnel lodged into his upper shoulder. Out of reach for Scarecrow, and likely, for the past week, little more than a low priority irritant. Unworthy of seeking help, but with the relocation of damaged limbs, and growth of new cabling, it was impacted. Cutting into essential power lines when shifted, and likely lodged into the rotator itself. </p><p>It would come out without any disassembly required, but definitely hurt to do so… </p><p>“Metal piece, sharp, imbedded in shoulder mechanism, torn cables, simple repair but painful.” He explained to the anxious unit, as he stepped back into view. “Want to help, permission to continue?” He flashed hopefully. </p><p>Scarecrow gave a heavy vent, and an affirmative. Then, he knelt down. Even like that, he was taller than the Robot, but now, it was more within reach. </p><p>He stayed in front of Scarecrow. Reaching over his back to accomplish the task instead. The Robot set one hand on Scarecrow’s side, as the other spread apart damaged and frayed cabling. Scarecrow clung to the Robot’s shoulder in turn. It was purely for stability - it couldn’t be anything else, their culture was rather lacking in physical displays of affection - however, The robot could not help but be reminded of Will’s hugs. He pushed the thought aside for a moment, as his hands locked around the shrapnel. Experimentally, he wiggled it, and in immediate response, Scarecrow jolted. Faceplate flaring with a pained surge of black.</p><p>“Apologies.” He swirled back, then proceeded. Twisting the piece until the angling was ideal to begin pulling it out. It tore through densely packed cables, but aside from some light laceration, all was well. It went by smoothly despite the constantly pulsing pattern for pain on Scarecrow’s faceplate that made the Robot’s core ache in sympathy. </p><p>When the deed was done, he held out the gnarled piece of metal between them for Scarecrow to see. </p><p>Experimentally, the unit rolled his shoulder - without any visible difficulty, aside from the continued flashes of pain - and then he proceeded to snatch up the offending hunk of metal. Without any hesitation or warning, Scarecrow melted it, until it was little more than a grey puddle on the Jupiter’s floor. Perhaps rash, but the Robot found it amusing. </p><p>The pain faded from Scarecrow’s display. Leaving behind a pattern of anxiety once more, as he rose back to his feet, and removed his hands from the Robot. He was turning to walk away. His frame shaking slightly.</p><p>Once again, he was reminded of hugging. </p><p>“Touch?” The Robot flared his faceplate brightly to catch his attention once more. Scarecrow stared for a short moment of confusion, but ultimately agreed.</p><p>“Acceptable.” </p><p>The Robot leaned forwards, arms outstretched as he wrapped Scarecrow into an embrace, his arms comfortably slotted between his primary and secondary limb sets. Perhaps it was simply due to a prolonged connection to Will Robinson, but the Robot believed human means of comfort were remarkably effective. The physical reassurance, and the promise of protection were wonderfully concise. </p><p>Despite the gentleness, Scarecrow jolted in surprise. A minor jostling of his plating, though the Robot further noted the lack of trembling. He clearly was not anticipating so much touch to result from the request. In concern, Robot tilted his helm upwards, flashing another question. Arms loosening slightly. Careful to communicate he wasn’t being contained. </p><p>“Overwhelming?”</p><p>The response wasn’t immediate. Scarecrow went rigid with uncertainty, faceplate moving with indecision. Patterns of curiosity, while his thoughts formulated.</p><p>“Purpose?” He finally returned with a question of his own.</p><p>“Comfort, affection, protection, reassurance.”</p><p>That was all Scarecrow needed apparently, as after he took that into account, the flighty unit all but melted into Robot’s arms. Four arms curling around him in turn. Claws tracing over the edges of his backplates before settling on his hips and shoulders. Scarecrow’s display continued swirling in movements that weren't quite words. Like happy babble. The Robot marked this as a success. </p><p>Human gestures were awe inspiringly effective. The Robot loved the weight against his chassis. The gentle vibration and purr of machinery. It had been so long since he’d heard and felt such wonderful things from more than the Jupiters’ systems. From more than thoughtless machines. It felt like so much more coming from someone else. It felt like so much more coming from Scarecrow…</p><p>“Touch?” The Robot requested again. Perhaps a little over eager. </p><p>“More?” Scarecrow looked down between their flush, interlocked forms, clearly not understanding how they could possibly touch more.</p><p>“Affirmative.” </p><p>“Proceed.”</p><p>The Robot unwound his arms to pull Scarecrow down, into a slight crouch. Into reach. The massive machine was utterly compliant in his interest, though his arms never left the Robot’s sides - a fact that warmed his core. </p><p>Then, after a moment of hesitation, the Robot pitched forward. His faceplate pressed gently into Scarecrow’s. The lights mingled. Blinking in curiosity and interest, so close that no one else could possibly see the thoughts they traded.</p><p>“Purpose?” Scarecrow was all around him in every sense of the words. His body curled around his, his lights filling his entire view. </p><p>“Affection. Intimacy. Love.” </p><p>Immediately Scarecrow’s display lit up with pure affection - and then... he pulled away.</p><p>The Robot wasn’t certain how long the gesture was intended to last - insufficient data - but he felt… disappointed. Though that was only for the slightest of seconds. Then those arms still latched around the Robot pivoted. Lifted the Robot effortlessly until he was held right up to Scarecrow’s chassis - a mimicry of when the Robot had needed to carry Scarecrow’s wounded form.</p><p>Their faceplates touched again.</p><p>This was definitely a success.</p>
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